This Indian Kid by Eddie Chuculate

Author:Eddie Chuculate [Chuculate, Eddie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2023-09-23T00:00:00+00:00

I realized the tryouts were a sham and that we were unwanted regardless of ability. But there were enough kids wanting to play and a new team was formed, sponsored by City Bank and coached by the Muskogee County district attorney.

“You guys should be called the Little DAs,” Homer quipped.

We had brand-new uniforms but were relegated to the small practice field while the all-white team got the big field, which we used when they weren’t practicing or had a game at Hatbox. We weren’t as good as the other team because we hadn’t played together much and were disorganized from the outset. Plus, they were all a year older.

Some guys only came when they wanted, and sometimes we even wondered if the coach was going to show up for practice. Just when we were about to give up on him, he’d roar up in his car and jump out wearing a sports coat, slacks, and dress shoes with a necktie flopped over his shoulder.

“Sorry, boys, got tied up in court,” he said.

He was an enthusiastic coach and we liked him, but we just never had any team chemistry. We won a few games, however, but also had to forfeit a few times when not enough players showed.

James Cordero asked me after practice one day if we could pick him up for the game tomorrow. His parents were going out of town, but he didn’t want to miss the game. He wrote his address down on a piece of paper. The next day we tried to find his house, circling around, up and down wide, smooth streets in a new addition a few blocks from the school with a confusing bunch of similar-type names.

“Is it Court, Square, Drive, or Lane?” Granny asked. “They all look the same.”

The two-story houses had lawns like golf courses and sweeping circular driveways with water fountains and shiny new cars.

“How’d you like to mow one of these, Hoss?” Homer asked.

“Wouldn’t,” I said.

We finally found the house and I jogged up to the front door, checking the address on the paper. I punched the doorbell and musical chimes cascaded inside.

A Black woman answered the door wearing what looked like a nurse’s uniform and hat.

“Is James here?” I stammered, figuring I had the wrong house.

“James!” she yelled out. “Your ride’s here.”

James came grinning up to the door in his uniform. We climbed in the bed of the pickup.

On the way to Hatbox, I asked who the woman was.

“That’s my mom,” he said.

When he saw my look of confusion, he broke out laughing.

“That’s our maid, you turkey!”

I chuckled along with him but it still bothered me for a while, even after I got over the fact that she wasn’t his mom. He’d said it so matter-of-factly and convincingly I had believed him for a second. And I didn’t know people in Muskogee had maids. The only maids I had seen were on The Brady Bunch and The Jeffersons on TV. Granny cleaned house for a couple of people sometimes but didn’t wear any sort of getup.

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